La AmoreJack Dawson Never Boarded the Titanic
by Roux Boutiette
Summary: Jack lost the bet, Fabrizio deserted him. He's decided to return to Paris till the next ship rolls around. While there, Jack meets Isabeau Lasair whom he falls in love with quick. Will this too end in tragedy?
1. Chapter 1

**JACK DAWSON**

**Mon Amore…**

_(Jack lost the bet, lost Fabrizio as a friend and has decided to return to Paris)_

Chapter 1

Ah… Paris…

I had to admit. I was more than a little bummed I wasn't going home. Then again, I didn't mind Europe. I loved Paris and was more than a little pissed that Fabrizio abandoned me over losing money we didn't even have. I told him that we didn't have anything to lose because we didn't have anything to begin with. He didn't care. I'm pretty sure he stowed away on the TITANIC. He was so desperate to go to America. I don't know why. Last time I was there, it was plain. Europe was exciting and daring.

People were a lot easier to get along with in Paris. Even though I barely spoke a lick of French they all tolerated me and were very kind to a broke American like myself.

It was midnight. I roamed the streets of Paris alone. A sketchpad tucked in my backpack along with some pencils.

Lights glittered like fairies all around. I looked up at them and continued to smoke my cigarette. I was just looking for a place to sleep. Under a tree. On a bench. Anywhere would due. I looked to my right and saw that the park was pretty vacant. I could sleep there. I walked silently into the soft grass and found a tree to sleep under.

I propped my bag against it to use as a pillow and lay down. My ice blue eyes beheld the heavens above. I took a drag of my cigarette and blew it out slowly as I watched the stars twinkle. I thought about the TITANIC. Big whoop. Giant ship going home. Screw home. It wasn't nearly as interesting as Europe. I fit in here better anyway.

Besides any ship that had an owner who said that God couldn't sink it, was pushing fate. If there was one thing I'd learned in my 19 years on this earth, it's that God has an ironic sense of humor. Maybe next time the TITANIC rolled around I could hop a ride. Yeah.

Slowly my eyes drooped shut and I found myself in a deep sleep.

_**That morning…**_

It wasn't the sun that woke me the next morning. It was a soft scratching sound. I opened my eyes to see a silhouette against the sun. They were sketching furiously. I blinked in the sun.

"I'm sorry just give me, like, four seconds. Hold still," the sketch artist said.

It sounded like a girl. A female artist? Wow. I heard one last scratch.

"I'm done. Sorry," they murmured.

I held my hand in front of the sun to shield my eyes. A girl stood before me. Her hair was pulled back loosely at the sides and fell in wavy curls down her back. Her locks reflected a dark and rich red in the sun. Each stray strand lit up like fire in the sunlight.

Her skin was a creamy white, flecked with numerous freckles. Her lips were quite thin but bow shaped and wide. The heart-shape of her face balanced perfectly with her long, swanlike neck. Then her eyes.

Her eyes were a shocking turquoise. Green around the pupil, then sea foam to the rim, then the rim of the iris a shocking hunter green. Freckles of light green rest in her eyes. Brown lashes fringed those amazing big eyes.

I stared in awe. She was a masterpiece. She reminded me of 'The Siren' drawn by John William Waterhouse. I smiled at her a little.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she frowned standing from the kneeling position.

An American! I gawked in joy and surprise.  
>"Uh… <em>Je suis desole si je vous reveille<em>," she said slowly.

"I'm American," I grinned.

"_Dieu Merci! Un autre Americain!"_ she grinned clutching her sketchpad to her chest.

"You _are_ American, right?" I asked.

"_Oui!_ I mean yes."

I laughed softly.

"Sorry. After you spend six months in Paris and you finally learn the language it can be kind of hard to shake," she sighed.

I shrugged.

"I wouldn't know. I don't speak any French," I replied.

She sighed.

"Well… I guess I should go," she said gesturing over her shoulder.

"Well, why?" I asked inquisitively.

"Frankly, I feel like a complete stalker for drawing you while you slept and am kind of embarrassed."

I smiled.

"I pull that all the time. Here," I said removing my sketch tablet and handing it to her. "You give me yours."

We traded sketchbooks. I watched her eyes widen as she saw my nudes. It was odd. Most people's eyes widened in shock… hers widened in a look of artistic appreciation. She flipped the pad to face me.

"Is this that lady who comes down to the bar every night wearing all the jewelry she has?" asked the girl.

I grinned.

"That's the one."

She laughed softly and continued to look at my drawing. I thumbed through hers. There were a few drawings of a couple romantically holding each other. Then each one of the couple separately. Them alone. Them glancing at one another as they part ways. Then one of them meeting the other. Then one of them on a date. One of them at the Eiffel Tower. One of them kissing. One of them having sex. One of them running away… Then one last of them laying in the grass in this park kissing.

"Who are they?" I asked gesturing to the drawing.

"Oh, they are these two people I see all the time and I think they would make the best couple. They pass each other every day and I really would like to see them together. He always watches her walk away and just when he looks away, she looks at him. I draw what I think their story should be," she shrugged as we traded back sketchpads.

"That's very creative," I replied.

"Thank you. So you use Jacqueline a lot."

"The one legged prostitute. Yeah."

"Do you draw her and _then_ have sex with her or the other way around?" smiled the girl.

"Neither. I'm more professional than I seem. She's a good client though. Very funny."

"Yeah, she's pretty sweet. I bought her a drink once. I love the use of her hands in your drawings. Very delicate and subtle, but also defining," said the girl.

"Thanks."

We sat awkwardly looking at one another. She grinned to show she was aware of the silence.

"So, uh… what brings you to Paris?" she asked.

"I can't get back to America. I almost got on the TITANIC, but… it's a long story. Anyway, I like Paris no matter what. I was at South Hampton, but I hitched a ferry back here," I said.

"Yeah, ain't no place like Paris," she grinned.

"Couldn't have put it better myself."

She was still standing. I patted the green earth beside me, signaling for her to sit. She took the seat quickly, paying no attention to the grass that would dirty up her clothes. She was wearing a tight fitting blue over layer that stopped just before her elbows. A navy band encircled her waist. A long and slim skirt was flowing down her long legs. Despite her wealthy decor… she wore men's shoes.

"I'm Jack Dawson," I smiled extending my hand.

She took it and shook it strongly.

"Isabeau Lasair. Means God's vow of fire," she said.

I grinned.

"Would you believe me if I told you my name meant 'God is gracious'?" I said.

"Yes, I would. I know the meaning to almost every name," she replied.

"Okay, what about Aidan?"

"Fiery one."

"Danielle?"

"God is my judge."

"Jolie?"

"Pretty."

"Zoey."

"God's laughter."

"Fiona?"

"Beautiful."

"Juliet."

"Youthful."

"James."

"Holds the heel."

"Andrew."

"Manly."

I smiled.

"Damn… why do you know all that?" I laughed.

"I read a lot."

I scrutinized her appearance. She seemed rich. A little wealthy. What was she doing wandering around Paris with a sketchbook? Why wasn't she being confined by her rich family?

"Isabeau, you look kinda… upperclass… Why are you hangin' out here alone?" I asked.

She laughed.

"Me? Rich? Hell no! I drew a picture for some woman and she didn't have any money so she paid me in clothes."

"Wow, that is quite the story. You know, I would pay you for drawing me but all I have is ten bucks and I didn't give you permission to draw me in the first place. Sorry, Isabeau," I shrugged.

"You can call me Beau," she said looking down at her pencils as she sharpened them with a knife. "And if you insist on me drawing you and you don't want to give me your money… I'll draw you for the sheer pleasure of you taking your clothes off," she winked.

I burst out laughing.

"You want me naked?" I laughed.

"Oh, butt naked. Just stark naked roaming Paris," she said with serious eyes.

I laughed and shook my head. She removed a pouch from her knapsack and sighed.

"I have got about thirty Parisian bucks here. Want an espresso and some bread to split?" she asked.

I stared at her and blinked. A girl asking me out on a date? Was it a date?

"Like a date?" I asked.

"Naw, I don't think dating hours start till like… six-thirty. It's only seven am, not date time yet. I was thinking more of a breakfast than a date," she smirked.

That was the first time I went on a date with Beau Lasair…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Not_ a Date

Beau and I sat outside a Parisian café with a warm loaf of bread and two cups of hot coffee. She sat with her legs crossed gracefully lounging back in her chair. One had resting on the wrought iron table and the other holding the cup of coffee to her lips. I munched on the bread ravenously. I hadn't eaten in days.

"Want some bread?" she smirked, sarcastically.

I stifled laughter so my bread wouldn't spew everywhere. She noticed and smiled, setting down her coffee.

"So how long are you gonna be in Paris?" asked Beau.

"I don't know. As long as I feel like it. I guess you could call me a tumbleweed blowing in the wind," I shrugged.

She gave me a nod of recognition.

"Well put," she said.

"Thanks. What about you?"

"Same as you. Not sure. Just whenever I get tired of it or feel like I need I should move on."

"Where would you go?" I asked interestedly.

"I may hop a ferry to London. Maybe go to Italy. What about you?"

"I was thinking both of those too!" I lied.

I wanted to go with her. It felt good to have a friend again. Plus, she was really interesting. I kind of needed her to be there.

"Really? Well maybe I could let you tag along," she smiled.

"_You_ let _me_ tag along? Maybe _I'll_ let _you_ tag along."

"Hm… that was funny," she said dryly.

"You're an ass hole!" I laughed throwing a bit of bread at her.

She picked it up and threw it full force at me.

"Gah! Did you play baseball or something! Damn! I didn't know anyone could make bread hurt," I laughed.

"I _did_ play baseball. I traveled around with a baseball team for a year actually. I didn't play in their games, I helped them practice. They paid me good. That's how I made the money to get over here," she explained.

"You played pitcher, huh?" I said.

"No, catcher. You wouldn't believe the arm-strength needed to throw from home to the pitcher's plate."

She looked up at the sky and took another sip of her coffee. Her eyes twinkled in the light of the sun. She was quite stunning. Nobody I would fall in love with though. Right?

"So, what now, Beau?" I asked.

She sighed and pursed her lips.

"Let's walk. See what we see. Do what we want," she said rising from her chair.

I copied her and she began to walk to the sidewalk.

"Aren't ya gonna put up your cup?" I asked.

She looked over her shoulder at me and raised a brow.

"For the first time in a while someone has to wait on me. I'm not gonna waste that," she said.

I smiled and ran up to her side. She walked in a very lady-like fashion. She had to have been rich at some point in her life with that graceful canter.

"I think you used to be high society," I said.

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

She smiled and shook her head.

"You're crazy," she said.

"No I don't think I am. I think you used to be a rich girl."

"A rich girl? Me?" she said looking to her feet.

"Were you?" I asked.

"Do I seem like someone who was rich at some point?" she laughed.

"Ah! That's not a no!"

"What makes you think it isn't a no?"

"See, that wasn't confirmation it was a no, Beau!"

"You are being completely ridiculous."

"Mmm, what school did you go to?"

She sucked in a deep breath and looked at me.

"My parents sent me to Madeira Girl's School when it first opened in 1906. I was 13 and I only stayed two years. I dropped out at 15 and ran away to New York," she said.

"What? What about your parents?"

"Jack, the reason I went to Madeira Girl's Boarding School was because I had no parents."

"Oh," I said.

"They died when I was 13. They were out on a date and I was home alone. Next thing I know, I'm being hauled to the hospital to say goodbye to my parents. They got mugged and shot."

I didn't know exactly what to say.

"Um… that really seems… heavy," I replied.

"You live. You learn. You move on. Life is a gift. Don't waste it like my parents did with high society partying and rubbing elbows with governors. That is not living in my opinion."

"My parents died in a fire when I was 15," I said.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said with a frown.

"Live. Learn. Move on," I repeated.

She smiled and nodded.

"You're absolutely right though. Life is a gift… not a right," I said.

Isabeau gave a small grin.

"So, if you were a high society gal, why are you… so nice? Not spoiled?" I asked.

"Because I don't want to live up to that irritating stereotype," she spat.

"Whoa, whoa! It's fine. I was just curious," I smiled.

"Sorry. I hate my past sometimes. I draw for so many rich people and see them and think: _'oh my gosh… would I have turned out that way?'_," she murmured.

"No. You couldn't have turned that way. Your much too nice naturally. Your either born nice or not. That's that. You were born nice, Isabeau. You were born… with a personality of a… poor person," I smiled.

She laughed softly and looked at me with a sparkle of happiness in her eyes. Ahead of us was a playground. Kids played merrily on it.

"Ah, my eye has been drawn," she breathed intensely.

I followed her eyes to the playground. She lifted her dressed slightly and sprinted towards the playground.

"Where are you going?" I laughed.

She turned around and ran backwards.

"To the playground! Come with me!" she cried.

I grinned and ran after her. Her long auburn hair flowed behind her as she ran. She jumped onto the gravel and all the children glanced her way. She ran over to a nearby tree and leaned against it with her eyes closed. The children looked at her curiously.

"_Tu ferais mieux de se cacher! Un…deux…trois...quatre..."_

I stepped lightly towards her with my hands in my pockets.

"What are you doing?" I laughed.

She paused from counting and looked at me.

"We're playing hide and seek! I told them to hide. Want to help me count?"

"I can't count in French," I shrugged.

"I don't care, count in English! Come on, we're getting behind!" she hissed.

I stood beside her and we continued to count. When we got to thirty we stopped.

"_Prêt ou pas ici je viens!"_

"Ready or not here we come!"

We yelled simultaneously.

"Follow me," she whispered tiptoeing towards a large iron tube.

She crept up behind it and held her finger to her lips to me. I watched as she raised her fists and then slammed them violently making a loud banging sound. Various children's scream came and they filed out.

"Tag one!" she laughed as they fled towards the tree.

I missed them all by a long shot.

"_Oh bien. Tre desole._ I'm kidding. There's three more," she grinned.

I followed her over to the wooden castle. She crept inside and walked up the steps to a tube-like slide. Without warning she threw herself in. I heard more child-like screams. I watched her fall out at the bottom and lift her dress running full speed at the children. She tagged one of them.

"_Je vous suis!"_ she cried pointing the boy she tagged.

"_Aw venir sur!"_ he groaned.

"_Je t'ai juste et carré," _she said firmly.

He moaned angrily and walked up to the tree.

"_Un… deux…"_

"Jack! Hide!" she cried.

We played this for two more hours… All the children had learned our names. I found out that some of them spoke English.

"Well, it is time for Jack and I to go," Beau said.

"Aw, non! Jack, stay!" Bernadette whined.

"Yes, please stay!" added Adrianne.

"We have to go, guys. We will try and come back tomorrow though," Isabeau said.

"But Isabeau…" groaned Bruno.

"We may see you tomorrow," she said ruffling his hair.

Isabeau and I began to leave the playground.

"_Au revoir!"_ all the kids shouted.

"_Jusqu'à la prochaine fois!"_ Isabeau cried.

"Yeah, bye!" I called.

For a runaway rich girl… Isabeau was pretty remarkable… Not like most runaway rich girls. Afraid to get their hands dirty. Afraid to break free of their cage. Isabeau rolled in mud and had made her cage explode into a thousand tiny pieces. I liked that… but I didn't like it too much. Did I?


End file.
